She watches the birds like someone remembering a place they’ve never been. Not with envy, but with something heavier. Something almost like peace.
The chain around her ankle isn’t rusted. It’s real. It’s recent. But the key… the key is bright. Loud, even. It swings from her ear like it’s always been part of her.
Some say she’s stuck.
But maybe she’s just sitting still long enough to notice the sky. Maybe it’s not about unlocking the chain, maybe it’s about realizing she’s the one who put it on.
Freedom isn’t always a flight. Sometimes, it’s the moment you stop waiting to be rescued.
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